


When Blood Runs Too Thick

by nightrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, BDSM, Dom!Sam, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Psychic Bond, Sub!Dean, soulbonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people are born either dominants or submissives, and most people are born with a psychic bond to their soulmate- the one person who is supposed to complete them. </p><p>Sam and Dean Winchester are hunters. Sam and Dean Winchester are brothers. Sam and Dean Winchester are also soulmates. </p><p>It's never happened before. It's not supposed to happen. But Sam and Dean have to deal, together, with the connection that binds them body and soul, whether they like it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Determination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/461256) by [Cesare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare), [helens78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78). 



> This was inspired by and is set in the universe as cesare and helens78's Bound and Determined verse, with their permission.
> 
> If you haven't read that, I highly recommend it, it's awesome.
> 
> Reviews and comments are greatly appreciated.

The youngest person ever to begin sensing eir bond was Susanne Elisabeth Maddox, a female submissive living in England in 1846. She was just six years old. She waited until the appropriate age, fourteen being considered acceptable then, to begin seeking. It didn’t take long for her to find her soulmate- he’d been waiting a long time already, having turned forty that same year. They acknowledged the next week and married on her sixteenth birthday, going on to live a long and happy life.

            Generally, children begin feeling their soulbonds at the onset of puberty, around twelve or thirteen years of age. This process is casually known as “sparking.” A few years after this, usually at the age of eighteen, it is traditional to go on a trip seeking one’s soulmate, as generally soulmates are separated by a fair amount of distance.

Less is known about pairings where children have already met their soulmates face-to-face at this time, as these are extremely rare. Evolutionary scientists posit that most bondmates are somewhat geographically distant to introduce helpful genetic diversity into the species, as well as to perpetuate stable relationship bonds.

Concordance education begins in kindergarten in most schools, but even then it is uncommon for a child to actually identify as a dominant or submissive until they are older. Some parents claim to know since infancy what their child’s orientation would be, but no one takes such claims at all seriously- they’re just as likely as not to be wrong. Children tend to actually settle in an identity around the time they spark, or a little later, by the age of about sixteen.

It would be unheard of for a child as young as Dean Winchester, currently aged three years and five months, to even know his own orientation. He was a sweet little boy, gentle and eager to please, and his mother thought he might be taking after her submissive nature, but she knew identification was years off.

Even more impossible would be any kind of bond emerging. It would have to be such an unusual case as to literally never have happened before. It would defy all science and culture knew about the bond.

But Mary Winchester was the boy’s mother, and looking at his face, as she walked through the doors of her house with her infant son in her arms for the first time, she knew. She knew in her very soul, just like she knew John was the man she was meant to be with, that there was something very strange in the way Dean looked at his brother.

She puts the baby to bed and then kisses Dean goodnight, collapsing into her own bed at long last.

John wraps an arm around her waist and murmurs, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s got to be nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Did you see anything… anything strange at all? Today? When we brought Sam home?”

“Dean might be a little jealous, but that’s to be expected. He’ll get used to it.”

“No. I mean… anything… never mind.”

“Tell me, honey.”

“John-“

“Come on,” he urges, just a hint of a threat in his voice. She obeys.

“I think… I think they might be bondmates.”

“What?”

“It’s- it’s just the way Dean looked at Sam. It’s the way I looked at you, when you first walked into my life.”

“So he’s excited to have a brother. We should be glad.”

“No, it was… it was something more, John. I’m sure of it.”

He sighs. “All right. Listen to me. If it is something… if it is something unnatural with the bond happening between them, we’ll figure it out when they’re older. They’re just babies now, it’s not like any harm is going to come from them being… a little extra close. That sound right?”

“Yes. It does.”

“And if it’s still a problem when they should be starting to spark, we’ll take them to a therapist and get it all sorted out. They can block if they have to, maybe, or they’re always talking about permanent renunciation… something. But it probably won’t work out that way.”

“You think so?”

“I do. You’re tired, Mary. You’re tired and you had a baby today, for Chrissake. It’s no wonder you’re a bit loopy. Now, you lean right against me, there’s my girl, and you go right to sleep. Trust me on this, sweetheart, there’s not a thing to worry about. Not a thing in the world. I’m here.”

“I trust you. You know I do.”

John senses her continued unhappiness, but he doesn’t say anything, just combs his fingers through her hair until she falls into a fitful sleep.

When she wakes up, though, the fears of the night are already drifting away. There’s breakfast to be made, and John to see off to work, and friends coming over with casseroles and congratulations. She finds it embarassingly easy to put Dean in charge of watching the baby while she attends to her visitors.

As she heals from the birth, and as Sam grows a little older, she begins giving Dean more and more time with him. Whenever he’s not nursing or napping, he’s generally playing with his big brother. It gives her time to get the laundry and cooking done, even time to sit back with a book once in a while. She always keeps half an eye on them, though. Well, for the first few weeks.

Dean is just so good with the baby. He’s gentle and attentive and caring. He listens to Sam’s baby babble affectionately and passionately. He flicks the fan in the living room on and off over and over again, standing on a chair to reach, while the baby watches in wonder. He clutches brightly colored toys in his fat little fist and moves them in patterns so Sam’s eyes can follow. He tells his brother elaborate stories about magical creatures, and they almost make her laugh they’re so far from the dark truths she knows about the world. And every time fitful Sam drifts off into sleep, it’s because his big brother has sung him “Hey Jude” as a lullaby, just as she does for Dean when he can’t sleep.

He’s a good brother. And whether that’s just because of his disposition or because of… something else, something she doesn’t want to think about, she eventually lets him become as close to Sam as he wants to be.

She never sees him make even the slightest move toward anything inappropriate. Once or twice he brushes his fingers across Sam’s joining spot when holding the baby, but that could easily be an accident.

Mary suspects she’s making excuses. She doesn’t want to make a fuss over this when she has a house and a family and two children and a dom to juggle. She doesn’t want to have John laugh off her concerns again, and she doesn’t want- especially doesn’t want- the government getting involved and maybe seperating her boys. She has to believe that ignoring this is in their best interests. It’s not just to make her life easier, it’s really what’s best for her sons.  And if it doesn’t go away, or anything really wrong starts happening, she’ll take them to a bond therapist. There has to be someone out there who can help. If anything is even wrong.

John senses her distress, but he can’t do much about it. She doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. In fact, she outright refuses. John presses just a little, and she feels his growing worry through the bond, but she ignores it, and he lets it go. The most she does is sometimes letting a sigh or two escape when she’s lying next to him as he sleeps.

One night, Sammy starts crying loudly enough to wake them both up. “I’ll get it,” she whispers to John, who nods, still half-asleep. The sound of his brother crying usually wakes Dean up, but the one thing he can’t do for Sam is feed him when he’s hungry. She stops off briefly in Dean’s room and checks to make sure he’s still in bed. Then she goes in to soothe the baby back to sleep.

As she opens the door, she thinks about how there really is something wrong. She should talk to John about it again. It’s getting to a point where both of them can think of little else- her focus always on the relationship between her sons, his always on her distress.

She’s decided. First thing in the morning, she’ll talk to John. She’ll tell him her concerns, her proof, everything. They’ll get through this as a family.

That’s her last thought as she steps into the room and sees that Sam isn’t alone in the room.


	2. Chapter Two

Dean hasn’t spoken a word since the night his mother died. It’s been two years, and he hasn’t said a damn thing.

For a while, John thought it was just him, that Dean was nervous around him or upset at him for Mary’s death and wouldn’t talk to his father. But then he started school. For all of kindergarten and now three months into first grade, he hasn’t talked. Not to his teacher, not to another kid, not to anyone.

After about four months of it, John takes him to a doctor in between hunting trips. She’s a friendly, cheerful young domme, who takes to Dean right away. She manages to coax a small smile out of him, but even she can’t get him to talk. Nonetheless, she goes ahead with the examination, which concludes that absolutely nothing is physically wrong with him.

John has tried absolutely everything. He’s ordered Dean to talk to him, threatened him when he doesn’t, cajoled him, bribed him with special treats, asked him directly, had his teachers ask him- there’s just about nothing left for him to do. 

He’s more or less given up.

So when he goes out hunting, leaving Dean to watch Sam, he doesn’t expect anything to be different. He’s delayed, cops asking a few too many questions about what he’s doing in a graveyard after dark, and he doesn’t get home in time for Sammy’s bedtime. He tiptoes back in the house, praying the cranky toddler has fallen asleep despite his absence. He doesn’t have much hope, though. Sam is a very fussy little boy, and he generally refuses to sleep unless he’s been read his bedtime story.

“Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere,” he hears, to his shock.

It’s Dean’s voice, a little husky from disuse, reading Sam’s favorite picture book to him. 

“Goodnight Sammy.”

“No!” Sam exclaims, giggling wildly. “Read it ‘gain!”

And, as if he’s unable to resist, Dean flips back to the front of the book. “Okay, Sammy.” 

“Yay!”

Dean ruffles Sam’s hair, his hand resting at the back of Sam’s neck- almost at soul’s home. “Goodnight room, goodnight moon, goodnight cow jumping over-“

“Boys,” John interrupts, almost nervous to do so. He doesn’t want to scare Dean back into silence. 

“Daddy!”

That’s Sam. Dean doesn’t say anything, holding his place on the page until it’s obvious that Sam has lost all interest in the book.

“Come on, buddy. Bedtime.”

“Goodnight Sammy!” Sam yells.

“That’s right. C’mere.” John scoops him up and carries him toward the motel room bed, which is thankfully seperated from this kitchen area by a door. 

“Should I go too?” Dean asks.

“No. I wanna talk to you. Once I have Sam in bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillows. John kisses his forehead, looking fondly down at him for a moment. He won’t be a baby for much longer, and John’s missed so much of these precious days, leaving him with Dean or with Bobby if he’ll be away longer than a few hours. But he has no choice. He has to find Mary’s killer.

God, he misses her so much. She’d know what to do. She’d be able to understand Dean, to get through to him as John never could, locked out by literal silence and the deeper quiet of his polite obedience, that façade that never reveals a feeling. 

“Son.”

Dean is still sitting on the couch.

“You’re talking. I’m glad.”

“Sammy needed me to.”

“But-“ I needed you to, years ago, doesn’t seem like the right response. “I’m glad.”

“He needed to go to bed. And you weren’t here. I had to.”

“I-“ What can John say to that? 

“I’ll always look after him. You know that,” Dean says anxiously.

“I do, buddy.”

Dean smiles at that, looking so genuinely thrilled that John forgets about all the other difficult things he was going to say. He wanted to talk about how Dean needs time to be a kid too, about how he’s the parent here, about how he’s proud of his son. But things like that always came hard to him, and the smile on Dean’s face looks like he knows, anyway. So John lets it go. 

“You should get some rest too, kiddo.”

“Kay. Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight.”

Dean disappears into the bedroom.

John is worn out from the hunt, but not enough that he thinks he’ll be able to sleep. He doesn’t do a whole lot of that these days. Instead, he gets a beer out of the minifridge and sits down at the table to think.

Something feels wrong about this. Something-

The way Sam talked to his brother. There was something in his tone, something imperious, almost. Dominant. Like he knew that Dean would do as he was told. 

It isn’t unusual for kids to playact roles like that, even with their siblings. They mimic their parents or favorite TV characters, or even act on the growing feelings they start to have a lot younger than their parents would like. Dean is too young to identify, obviously, but he’s always been a pliable kid, eager to please, obedient to a fault. Except with the talking thing, he does whatever he’s told. John expects he takes after his mother.

It’s probably nothing. Probably totally normal childhood playing around. It probably doesn’t mean anything. But Dean’s hand- and Sam’s tone of voice-

Mary had said something about this, in those last few months, even though Sam was just a baby. She’d been worried about this, about something strange happening between the boys, and John had dismissed her concerns completely. He should have listened. Maybe she could have left him with some advice more than what she’d said.

As things are, he decides to do as Mary mentioned in passing. Do nothing. Wait and see. And if it doesn’t work out, take them to a bond specialist.

He hopes it won’t come to that. He hopes it’s all in his head. Maybe all the long nights really are getting to him. Maybe Bobby's right, and he should lay low for a little while and spend some more time with his sons while they're still little.

He wishes that was a choice he could make, but ever since the night he lost Mary, there's been only one thing that really matters in his life. He lives for the hunt, no matter what.

Sam and Dean will just have to learn to help each other.


	3. Chapter 3

"Dean."

Dean looks up from the math worksheet he'd been halfway trying to concentrate on. "What is it, buddy?"

"'m bored."

"Well, what would be interesting?"

"Read to me?"

Dean groans, but it's play-acting. Really, he loves reading to his brother. He feels pretty dumb in school a lot of the time. There's a bunch of stuff the other kids talk about, like t-ball leagues and their parents reading them books, that he just doesn't get. But when Sam asks him to read to him, he feels like the smartest person in the world. Sammy just has a way of listening that no one else does, like he's only paying attention to Dean, because Dean is the only thing that matters. Sam can read a little now, but he's still not great at it, and Dean doesn't really mind.

"Sure."

They make it through three chapters of _The House of the Scorpion,_ which Dean was supposed to be reading for school anyway, before Sam is yawning.

"Bedtime?" Dean suggests.

"'kay."

Sam slips his hand into Dean's while they walk over to the bathroom. Dean supervises tooth-brushing and face-washing, but gives Sam privacy to change into his own pajamas now. At five, he has decent fine motor skills and doesn't need his brother's help for nearly as many things as he used to.

"Goodnight, Sammy."

"Night, Dean. Um. Can you do somethin' for me?"

"Sure."

"Walk to that store on the corner and get me a Lunchables for tomorrow."

"I shouldn't. I don't want to leave you alone. We can go on our way to school, okay?"

"Okay. Sure. Love you, Dean."

"I love you, Sammy."

Dean tucks Sam in and kisses him on the forehead. He isn't really tired, but nor does he want to go back to that math worksheet. He feels weirdly restless.

It's a little too hot to be comfortable in the motel room. He wants a drink and they're all out of soda. He has so much energy and he wants to run, or walk, or shoot something. He doesn't want to be cooped up in here, studying.

He knows he shouldn't go. He shouldn't leave Sammy alone. 

But Sam wants something, and he wants like hell to get out of here. Besides, how much can go wrong in the ten minutes it'll take to get to the store and back?

Those were, as it turns out, famous last words.

*****************************************

Dean runs into the house, dropping everything to grab his gun. He knows that something's wrong.

There's a... a thing, crouched on top of Sammy. Going to hurt him. Dean doesn't know exactly what it's going to do, but he knows in his gut that it is really, really bad, and it needs to be stopped.

He just doesn't know how.

He doesn't want to shoot- he's afraid to hurt Sam. But letting this thing suck away Sam's life is hurting to watch. He has to do something. He just doesn't know what-

And then Dad is there.

Thank God, Dad is there, pushing him out of the way and shouting and shooting and it doesn't matter that he's failed, it doesn't matter that Dad thinks he's worthless now for the one thing he's ever been good at, it doesn't matter that Dad's angry or shouting or even that Sammy's crying and scared because it's over now, it's all right now, Sammy is safe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for (non-explicit) sexual coercion of a child, child prostitution.

What Dean learns from the night the Shtriga comes is that he can never, ever let Sam be hurt again. Not for a second. 

And it isn’t because he wants his father to trust him again (although he does) and it isn’t because he loves his brother (although of course that’s true).

It’s just that the only thing Dean has ever been good for is looking after Sam. 

Dad starts taking Dean out for hunting practice after that. At first, Dean hates every second of it—not because it’s hard work. It is, but he’s never minded working hard, especially not at things his dad thinks are important. He hates it because the reason Dean has been handed this gun is because he didn’t do well enough. He has to learn to shoot because he didn’t have the confidence to kill the thing that was hurting Sam.

But his whole attitude changes when Dad lines up ten bottles in a row and tells him to start shooting. He hits them all, right in a row, and the way his dad smiles at him, actually smiles, is something he never forgets. 

When Sam is in school, around six, Dad starts going away for longer than an afternoon. Dean’s hit his tenth birthday, double digits, and that means he’s old enough to look after Sammy.

He promises his father that it isn’t a big deal, that he can do it, he really can.

The first time John goes on a hunt without them, they’re in Butler, Pennsylvania. It’s a small town, old-fashioned. They’ve been going to school there, both in the elementary school, Sam in first grade and Dean in fifth, for three weeks already, and John decides not to pull them out for a hunt that’s in New Jersey. He just goes on his own, leaving the boys in the rented motel room with a shotgun, salt on all the windows, forty dollars in cash, leftover Chinese takeout for dinner, and strict instructions not to leave except to go to school in the morning. That night goes off without a hitch. Dean makes sure Sam does his homework and gets to bed on time, and the next morning when John comes back they’re already off at school.

He still leaves them with Bobby for longer stretches. Bobby, who is gruff and quiet, like their father, but not like him in that he insists they act like normal kids. He doesn’t let Dean practice with the double-barrel even though he’s supposed to, and he doesn’t let Dean cook Sam’s dinner even though Bobby can’t make it quite the way Sam likes it, and he gives Dean a strangely knowing look at the way Dean starts when Sam calls his name to ask for his bedtime story. 

Still, Dean likes staying with Bobby. He likes that Bobby takes care of both of them, secretly enjoys not having to worry about guns and protecting his brother’s life and all of that for a little while. Shooting is important, but baseball is fun, and he doesn’t get to have a whole lot of that.

Yet as they get older, they spend less and less time at Bobby’s, and it isn’t because John is spending more time at home. Dean starts getting left with Sam most nights, and then for weekends, and then for weeks. In some ways it’s nice, because he doesn’t have to worry about moving back and forth from Bobby’s. They stay at the same school for months at a time now. Sam is much happier, really adjusting and starting to make some friends. He’s getting to be kind of popular, actually, which thrills Dean. Sam should get to have a normal life. That’s the point of all of this.

All of everything. 

The longer John leaves for, the more things he forgets. He gets more and more caught up with his quest for revenge and, little by little, seems to forget that he even has sons, sons who need him. They need him as a parent, to encourage and teach and protect them, but they also need things like rides to the grocery store and money and someone to pay for motel rooms.

Sometiems John is gone longer than he expects to be, and he often doesn’t think to pay extra in advance. He never remembers to leave extra food. 

At first, it’s only ever a day or two. That’s all right. Dean just skimps on his own portions to make sure Sam has plenty and does what he can to convince the landlords, motel owners, or whoever it is this week not to kick him out on the street. Dad always has money froom gambling when he gets back, and he always pays up, and when it’s only a day or two, Dean’s puppy dog eyes and most pitiful pout are always enough to convince the person in charge to give them a little tiny bit of leeway.

Then Dean starts to get older. He gets a little less cute and pitiful, and a little more like a young sub on his own.

In school, they start teaching concordance at ten, but Dean has been to so many different schools he’s never actually made it through the whole unit. He knows the basics, though—sparking, soulmates, orientations, all that. There’s never been a lot of doubt in his mind that he’s a submissive. He meets every qualification—he wants to please, he takes pleasure in being good. When he starts daydreaming about sex, it’s always someone holding him down or spanking him or telling him what to do.

Most children spark around twelve, but Dean hasn’t, as far as he knows. That doesn’t mean that people don’t start looking at him differently, though. Not everyone, obviously. Most adults are decent, he realizes that, most of them mind their own businesses.

But the year he’s twelve, when John is a week late instead of a day or two getting home, asking nicely isn’t enough anymore. The motel manager—balding, middle-aged, generally unnatractive dom—makes it all too clear exactly what he can do to keep himself off the streets for another week. He doesn’t mind, not really. He keeps his hand on his favorite knife in case things go ugly and tells him, “Just a blowjob, that’s it,” and during he doesn’t think about his aching knees or the taste in his mouth.

He thinks about the reason he’s doing this. Who he’s doing it to protect. Who he’s doing it for.

He closes his eyes and thinks of Sammy.


	5. Chapter 5

“What’s that, Sam?” Dean asks as he peers out the window, wondering when Dad will be home. Turning tricks for rent money would be a hell of a way to spend his Christmas.  
“It’s for Dad.”  
“Where’d you get the money? Steal it?” The last thing he wants is for Sam to start wondering where the money comes from. Or to start turning to less-than-legal means, whether it means picking pockets or other things, to make ends meet. Sam can’t ever realize that sometimes they don’t.  
“No. Uncle Bobby gave it to me to give it to him.”  
The last time they were at there, Dad and Uncle Bobby had a hell of a fight over the phone. Dean had eavesdropped, and overheard Uncle Bobby practically swearing at their father for leaving them there, for not being the father Uncle Bobby would have been to them. Dean had felt so incredibly guilty, because for a second—just for a second—he’d let himself wish that Uncle Bobby was their dad, that he and Sammy got to grow up in a normal house and Sam didn’t have to switch schools all the time and Dean didn’t have to worry where his next meal was coming from. But that’s stupid to wish for, because even if he isn’t always around, their dad is the best father—the best man—in the whole universe. He’s a hero.   
“It’s special,” Sam explains.  
“What is it?”  
“A pony.”  
Dean scoffs at him, not wanting to admit that he finds his stupid brother’s stupid joke kind of amusing. “Very funny.” He comes and sits next to Sam on the couch.  
“He is going to be here, isn’t he?”  
“Of course he is, Sammy.”  
\-------  
“I’m sure Dad would have been here if he could,” Dean says. How can he explain it to Sam? He knows what their father does is more important than anything, more important even than Sam getting to spend Christmas with him. Their dad loves him, he knows that, and if he hasn’t come home, it isn’t for a lack of wanting. He must miss them even more than they miss him, because at least they get to spend Christmas with each other.   
“If he’s alive.”  
Dean is shocked. Usually that’s his worry—although not much of one. His dad is stronger than any monster. “Don’t say that. Of course he’s alive. It’s Dad.”  
Sam gives him a look- withering, doubtful, almost scornful of his unquestioned trust. Dean feels a hot flash of shame he can’t quite define. Sometimes Sam acts like he thinks Dean is so stupid, and he hates that more than anything in the world. Of course, he isn’t a brainiac like his baby brother, but he can’t bear to be on the receiving end of Sam’s distaste. Dean bites his lip, and Sam turns away. For a long moment, Dean doesn’t say anything, simultaneously afraid of what Sam is going to say and ashamed of his own fear.   
It’s Sam who speaks. A package, clumsily wrapped in newspaper and scotch tape, is clutched in Sam’s still-chubby hand. “Here. Take this.”  
“No. That’s for Dad.” He can’t take that away from his father. It’s not supposed to be his, it’s from Uncle Bobby to Sam to Dad—a line of the three people who matter most in the world.  
“Dad lied to me. I want you to have it.” Sam hasn’t forgiven Dad for the lies about what he really does, but Dean gets the feeling that this time, it’s more about him not showing up for Christmas. He may be out a lot—and he is, and Dean knows exactly how much it is, feels it in the marks down his back—but he’s never missed Christmas or Sammy’s birthday before. Even if what Sam is upset at isn’t Dean, though, it still hurts to see him like this. Not least because it means Sam is going to keep holding this grudge against their father. They aren’t ever all going to get along like Dean imagines they once did, or once could have—and Sam is growing up, shifting from loving little boy to cranky teenager before Dean’s eyes.  
“You sure?”  
“I’m sure.” And there isn’t any doubt in Sam’s voice, and there is something shining in his eyes—something strange but sure, something that doesn’t suit a kid of eight at all.   
Dean opens it up. It’s a small amulet on a long leather cord, of an androgynous face with bulls’ horns and a swirling design on its forehead. It looks very old and very beautiful, and it feels heavy in his hand. Yet aside from the beauty of the object itself, he can feel a weight to this moment. He feels like taking this is accepting something—something more than a gift, even more than the changes Sam is going through. No, this significance feels like a good, a powerful one—like it could mark him, somehow, as good. It feels like—it is—Sam choosing Dean over their father, and that shouldn’t be a good thing, not at all. And yet somehow being chosen by Sam seems like the best thing in the world. “Thank you, Sam. I—I love it.” He doesn’t know what to say, and yet he senses those words are the truest he’s ever spoken.  
He starts to pull the cord over his neck.  
“Wait,” Sammy says, taking the necklace away from Dean. For a second, Dean feels paralyzing doubt. He’s taken back his gift. He’s decided to give it to Dad, or keep it, or give it to a friend, maybe. He’s chosen someone else to bestow this, this thing that Dean just knows is special, is maybe a powerful gift given by Bobby but is also somehow a token of Sam’s love, on. And Dean doesn’t come first for his brother, not the way Sam comes first for him.  
And then Sam smiles at him. “Lean forward, Dean.”   
Without thinking, Dean obeys, and feels Sam drape the weight of the cord around him. It hangs heavy against his neck, the weight of it solid and comforting.  
“You’re welcome,” Sam says, and leans forward to kiss Dean’s forehead like he hasn’t in nearly a year, not since kids started to make fun of him for kissing his big brother when Dean dropped him off at elementary school.  
Dean can’t speak, or he might cry, so he just wraps his arms around Sammy and holds him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is taken directly from canon except for the last paragraph or so, which is basically where it becomes AU.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains: het makings-out, infidelity, mentions of child prostitution/abuse, Dean's low self-esteem

A lot of kids are waiting for their soulmates, but just as many aren’t. Amanda is one of the second category. She isn’t Dean’s usual type, though. 

Actually, maybe in a way, she is his type. Not the type of girl- the brash, confident, very dominant type of girl he usually ends up with- but more like the female version of the sorts of crushes he gets, vague wistful thoughts about boys he’ll never be with, unattainable, precious, the sort who are waiting for their soulmates, who are so in love. Amanda is a good girl. She’s close to her parents. She’s blonde and sweet and makes Dean go out on three dates with her before she’ll even kiss him, and even then it’s with safewords and stuff. 

He’s mildly irritated by it all. After all, he could probably fight her off if anything happened, and it’s not like a couple of kisses and touching her boobs behind the bleachers one time is worse than anything Dean’s other partners have made him do. 

Part of him is still hoping he’ll spark one day, so he’s holding out his actual virginity for that, but the older he gets, the more appealing he is to the kind of men who pay for subs, and the more often his dad leaves him and Sammy to fend for themselves. So he’s done plenty of that—given a lot of anonymous handjobs and blowjobs in alleyways, let a couple of guys slap him around a little (easy to explain to Dad: I got in a fight, I was training with the shotgun, I was sparring with Sam, I’m trying to be stronger every day, are you proud of me), and once or twice let someone slap him around a lot. He’s never actually submitted, not really. Never taken orders, or anything.

Not until her. “Kiss me,” she says, and he does—easy to do, easy to obey, and yet somehow he feels like he’s conquered something. Like he’s triumphed.

“I want you to meet my parents,” Amanda tells him after a few weeks, and it isn’t quite a command. Nonetheless, he feels he has to agree. He doesn’t want to let her down, not when she—the bright star, the great student, the beautiful Domme that she is—is somehow putting up with him. 

And a part of him does want it, wants it badly. He wants to be welcomed into her home, to see what her family thinks of him (they would probably hate him, honestly, what kind of guy is he for a girl like her, but still), even just to spend more time with her.

Yet he can’t. He knows he can’t.

She does deserve better. She deserves someone who would fit into her house, into her life. She deserves someone who can come to her untouched, or only with other silly teenage fumblings. She deserves someone whole.

All the same, he’s going to go through with it. 

For some reason, it’s Sammy that stops him. He sees his little brother sitting at the motel table, scribbling out some stupid essay. He’s so intent on it, all his focus on the words he’s writing, for the class that he won’t stay in for more than another month, for a school he’ll never graduate from, for a hunting life where the complexity of his thesis statement makes no difference at all. And yet he is so clearly pouring his soul out onto the paper.

Dean puts the mac and cheese he’s made for dinner in front of Sam quietly, trying not to interrupt him. His brother doesn’t even look up. Dean eats in the kitchenette, watching Sam, thinking about Amanda—thinking about leaving her behind.

He looks at his brother and thinks, ‘This is what I have.’ And it’s enough. 

So he doesn’t go home with her to be presented to her family. Instead, he lets her friend (Susan? Sarah?) lead him behind the bleachers where he had first kissed Amanda. He doesn’t even want to do it, but there’s some kind of thrill in behing wanted like this. In being told, even for a second, that he’s good enough for a girl like this, at least for a few minutes behind the bleachers. Good enough to go home with, good enough to meet the folks—that’s just deluding himself. But this, maybe, he can have.

For a minute, until Amanda walks by. She doesn’t say a word, and suddenly he feels he has to apologize to her. He can feel her judgment, her disappointment, curling in his stomach and he runs after her, into the school building, into the crowded hallway. She turns to face him, finally.

“I—I’m—“ he begins, choking on the words. She shakes her head. 

“You spend so much time trying to convince people that you're cool, but it's just an act. We both know that you're just a sad, lonely little kid. And I feel sorry for you, Dean.”

It’s the worst thing she could have said—because it is so very true, and he knows it. He knows it, and in a way that’s what he wants. He wants her to see the inside of him. He wants her pity, her compassion. He wants her to take the parts of him that are sad and lonely and make them better.

But she can’t. She never well, because Dean can’t let her. He has to follow in his father’s footsteps. He has a higher purpose—one she can’t understand. Angry at the thought, he shouts back, “You feel sorry me, huh? Don't feel sorry for me. You don't know anything about me. I save lives - I'm a hero. A hero!”

And she doesn’t say a word. Dean’s words echo, empty, in the hallway, as people turn to stare at him, hiding laughter behind their hands.

He turns and rushes home. He doesn’t need this. They’ll be gone in a few days anyway, and these people will never know what he’s done for them.

Strangely, when he arrives at the motel, he doesn’t get the moment alone he’d needed, because Sam is there, waiting. He’s staring down at that essay he’d been writing.

“Sammy? Something up?”

“I… Dean, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Immediately, Dean pushes away his embarassment, trying to deal with the problem at hand.

“What if… what if I don’t want to be a hunter?”

“I’d be glad,” Dean says, quietly. He's ashamed of the words-- he knows what his father would think, if he heard them. And yet, he has to say what he believes. He can't lie to Sam. “It’s not safe, Sammy. And I—You could be more. Than a fighter. A lot more. Anything you wanted.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”


	7. Chapter 7

It takes Dean a really long time to figure things out.

See, he doesn’t want Sammy the way he wants the Dommes he fools around with. Not at all. Because when he’s with them… he feels like such a fool. Like a failure just waiting to happen. He feels so fucking desperate to please, like his skin doesn’t fit right and his clothes are too small and everything is just wrong, just terribly wrong until and sometimes even after they tell him he’s good.

Which doesn’t usually happen honestly because no one looks at Dean Winchester and sees a sub that needs to be taken down easy. They see aggressive and confident and sometimes it scares them and sometimes they want to fuck or beat it out of him, but they don’t want to take care of him.

And that’s why it takes him so long to figure out what it is with Sammy. Because with Sam he doesn’t feel useless and clumsy and desperate to please. He just feels safe. He feels like he’s doing something right, something good, like he’s all right. Not a screw-up, not broken and worthless. He feels like he’s exactly where he needs to be, doing what he needs to be doing. Taking care of his brother. 

Doms make him feel anxious, nervous, sometimes even scared (especially when they’re guys, big guys like the ones he has to let use him sometimes in the weeks when Dad doesn’t come home). Sammy makes him feel loved and safe and above all else useful. He has a place in the world, protecting Sam, taking care of Sam, loving Sam.

It’s not like he’s never had anyone try and take care of him. When he was nineteen he had a great scene, with a girl he picked up in a bar. He was trying to hustle but he wound up in Rhonda’s bed instead. She sat in an armchair while he stripped off all his clothes, watching him with hot hungry eyes. She smiled at him when he was naked, pulling out a pair of her own lacy pink underwear. She didn’t even have to say it, didn’t even have to tell him to do it. He slipped them on, before her eyes, for her pleasure, and fell to the ground at her feet like his legs wouldn’t hold him up anymore and maybe they wouldn’t have.

He shook like he was falling into pieces, like he was falling apart, and she just reached out and put a hand in his hair and pulled him close, to rest his head on her knee, and she said, “Such a good boy, so beautiful,” and he sighed and got hard in her panties but for a second it wasn’t about that, wasn’t about sex. Because if she’d done anything else, if she’d laughed at him or humiliated him like he knows some subs actually enjoy there’s no way. He would have broken there, at her feet, and never been all right again. But she didn’t. She just pet him for a while until his breaths were coming evenly again and he didn’t feel like he was about to cry.

Then she pulled him in close by his hair and guided him as he ate her out, slow strokes of his tongue across her, her soft restrained moans. She pulled him up onto her lap beside her and stuck her hand into the panties and made him come inside them, whimpering and shifting in place, his eyes wide and a name like a prayer on his lips.

It wasn’t hers, and it was a long time before he realized what he was going to say.

They say that a lot of people, plenty of people, spark that way, late bloomers like Dean assumes he must be. They come burning to life when they’re broken down and vulnerable in someone else’s arms. But Dean doesn’t stop to think about the moment, because there have been so many. So many unspoken seconds when he knew, somehow just knew, that there was something close, something better.

And yet he doesn’t realize for a long, long time. Not until Sam is seventeen, dimples gone except when he smiles, and rarely ever doing that. Fighting with Dad every chance he gets, the two of them tearing into each other—and Dean knows, he knows that’s what happens, with a teenaged Dom and a dominant parent, they fight, it’s in all the books, but—

It hurts when it’s his dad, when it’s his brother. When the two people who matter to him are glaring at each other like they want each other to die, like they really truly wish each other harm. It breaks his heart.  
But what can he do?

He finds the envelope sitting on a motel table. Stanford University. Sam is staring down at the letter. Dean finds himself with only two words to say.

“You’re going,” he whispers.”

“Yes,” Sam says, his eyes meeting Dean’s, far away already and full of pain.

And at that moment, Dean knows. It comes to him in a cold rush, like fear shooting down his spine. The soul mate he’s spent years waiting to feel is here, has always been here. There is no one, no one in the world, who could replace how important his brother is to him, because it is his brother. It’s Sam, destined to be with him, their souls tied by genetics or fate or destiny or God. Sammy is his soulmate.

And he looks up at Sam and realizes that Sam knows too, Sam has—“How long?”

“Since I was twelve.”

Twelve years old, still dimpled and sweet, too smart for his age, getting beaten up in the hallways but never when Dean was there, and Dean tried his best always to be there, to take care of his brother. “I- you never said-“

“I never could. Dean, you don’t want-“

Dean’s voice is low and harsh. “Don’t tell me how to feel.”

“You’d do anything for me. If I wanted—“

“So you… you want?”

There is a long, long pause. “Yeah,” Sam admits, his hands shaking as he looks at Dean. “I want you so bad, but I can never—“

It isn’t even a conscious action as Dean falls to his knees. “Have me. Make me yours.” And he’s finishing Sam’s sentence but it’s an offer, it’s everything he has to give, and he knows it isn’t enough, himself, but it’s what he’s got, and it’s all Sam’s anyway, it always has been, he sees that now.

Sam buries his face in his hands. “Get up, Dean. Please.”

Trembling, suddenly ashamed, Dean does as he’s told. He can’t look at Sam, his eyes resolutely pointed at the ground, but it seems like Sam can’t really look at him either.

“I’m leaving,” Sam says, his voice barely audible.

“Still?”

“I’m sorry,” two pitiful words, not enough, not enough. And Dean isn’t surprised, really, that he’d offer up his body and soul and be found wanting, be left behind, but it still hits him like a punch in the gut… no, worse. So much worse. 

He was wrong about Sam and Dad because this… this is what a heart breaking feels like. It’s a real physical pain, deep in his chest, an aching, tearing pain in his very soul. His face burns, his eyes water, but he doesn’t cry. He won’t cry. “Sammy,” he whispers, his whole broken heart in the word. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say next. Stay, maybe. Or, go, be happy, I love you, I want the best for you. Maybe even, take me with you, make up fake names and pretend we’re lovers nothing more that’s all I need is to be yours in some way any way that's all I am--

But before he can speak, the door opens, and Dad walks in.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains hella angst and an incestuous kiss. Also mild violence/technically parental abuse.
> 
> Also please note that the email address in this chapter is possibly someone's real email and not a cute easter egg please don't email it.

“Hello, boys,” he says, his voice calm. He doesn’t know what he’s walked in on. He has no idea what’s happening. And there is so much going on. Everything depends on this moment. 

Sam turns away from Dean, and toward their father. “Sir.” His voice is calm, impressively so to Dean’s ears. “I need to talk to you.”

Dean almost speaks. He almost says everything, in front of both of them, lets the whole truth out. Instead, he nods at his father and walks out, letting the motel door clang shut behind him. “Goin’ for a drink,” he mumbles, a flimsy excuse. He sits in the hallway, slumped against the wall, listening to Sammy and Dad scream at each other.

“We have a duty, Sam!”

“You had a duty to us! To your children. To raise us, to be here for us, to give us a normal life. And you never did that.” 

“So you run away. You run away and you abandon me, you abandon your brother, you abandon the people who need us-“

“Don’t put this on me. None of this. God, any other parent in the world would be happy for their kid.”

“But I always expected more from you. From both of you.”

“It was too much. For both of us. Dean was four years old when Mom died, and you left him to raise me. What kind of father would do that? God, do you even care?”

Dean winces as he hears the sound of a harsh slap. “Never,” and John’s voice is gruff, “never say that to me again, Samuel. You don’t know how much—what I would do—“

“But you haven’t. I don’t care how you feel, you’ve never done a fucking thing for us and I’m getting out. I’m going, and I’m going to make something of my life, something real, and you can’t stop me.”

“If you walk out that door, Sam, don’t you come back. Don’t you ever expect to come back.”

“What, to the three hundredth crappy motel we’ve stayed in? Oh, no, however will I live without the dear memories of this precious childhood home-“

“Fine, you’re mad at me. I understand. You’re an 18-year-old Dom, you have a lot of aggression, you have a lot of hormones. I remember what it was like. But you don’t have to take it out on me. And you don’t have to take it out on your brother, Sam.”

“What do you—“

“You’re really ready to walk away from Dean forever? I don’t believe you’d do that.”

Sam’s voice lowers to a hiss. “You never, do you hear me, never try to use Dean against me again. There is nothing—“ He breaks off. “Goodbye, Dad. You know where to find me. I’ll be at Bobby’s for the rest of the summer.”

The door opens again, and Sam sees Dean. He has a duffel bag over his shoulder and a red mark on his cheek where Dad hit him. He realizes Dean has been crying and instantly drops to one knee beside him. Dean covers his face with his hands, trying to hide, and Sam pries his hands away.

“Shh. Shh,” he soothes, and Dean wants to scream or hit him or something because it’s so fucking patronizing, he’s not an infant, but God he wants it, wants Sam’s comfort, so badly. He lets Sam wrap an arm around him, lets his brother pull him close. “Easy, Dean, easy. It’s going to be okay.”

“How?”

“Come with me,” Sam says quietly. “I won’t pretend it’ll be easy. I have housing on campus but it’s only for me, we’d have to get an apartment, we’d both have to work a lot. We’d have to fake papers, pretend we aren’t brothers. But we could do it. We could go together, you and me. When we had new names, new id cards, I’d acknowledge our bond, properly, in front of a judge and everything. And everyone would know you’re mine. We could have that, Dean. I want that. I want you.”

And Dean can see it, can see it so clearly. It’s everything he wants. He would be free of everything, of Dad’s expectations and long hungry nights and the world on his shoulders. He could—he could tell Sammy, about the things he’s had to do to keep him safe, to keep him fed, and Sam would tell him it’s all right, would love him anyway, would make sure it never had to happen again. Sammy would take care of him. Sammy would protect him. Sammy would love him. And Dean wouldn’t have to be alone, wouldn’t have to be afraid, wouldn’t have to be strong anymore. 

“But Dad,” he says. “If Dad is—I can’t leave him all alone. It isn’t right.” That’s only part of it, though.

Because plenty of people have happy relationships with those they aren’t bonded to. Plenty of people find love, real love, outside the bond.

And Sam deserves so much better than Dean. So much better than a broken, messed-up bond that never should have happened in the first place, a bond with his own brother. Sam deserves some beautiful girl who can make him happy, who can give his life light.

And Dean doesn’t deserve him.

“Dean, I can’t—I won’t pressure you. I won’t make you. But I want you with me. I want you by my side, forever.”

Dean shakes his head, slowly. He’ll cry if he tries to speak and then Sam will know. So he just shakes his head and stares up at Sam’s face, trying to memorize it, trying to keep the weight of his arm and the softness of his skin and the light of his eyes close, to treasure, even when he’s gone.

“I love you, Dean,” Sam says quietly. “Can I kiss you? Please? Just once?”

Dean nods. He can’t close his eyes, can’t take his eyes off Sam’s face as his brother leans in and gently, agonizingly gently, for one sweet second, presses his lips against Dean’s. It’s nothing more than how any siblings might kiss. There’s no sign of passion in it. But Sam’s lips leave a burning trace against his skin and Dean knows there’s no sense in trying to memorize this moment because there’s no way he could ever forget it. “I love you,” he whispers, and the tears fall.

Sam holds him close until he stops crying. It’s a long time. He’s exhausted by the end, so exhausted that he falls asleep, his face pressed to his brother’s chest, safe.

He wakes up the next morning back in a motel bed, and Sam is gone. He doesn’t ask his father how much he knows. He’s sure Sam brought him back in, can’t imagine his brother leaving him there in the hallway or his father carrying him or tucking him in.

Or leaving the tiny, crumpled piece of paper underneath Dean’s pillow with just an email address- swinchester@stanford.edu and the words:

“Take care of yourself. Be safe. Never forget that you can be mine if you want to be. I love you.”


	9. Chapter 9

For two years, it’s just Dean and his father. Dean has nothing but the hunt, and so he throws himself into it completely. And that’s good. It is, at least, something to live for.

He goes as long as he can bear it between scenes. He hates the thought of being with anyone but Sam. At night, in the dark of the motel room, he jerks himself off to the silent shameful thoughts of Sam pulling him in for a kiss, gripping the amulet tight to hold him in place. Nothing more than that, just Sam’s lips on his.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever known or ever will. 

When he meets Cassie, he can’t resist her. She urges him into her bed, taking him in hand almost effortlessly. There’s no drama with her, no fear. She tells him what to do and where to touch and he obeys. 

She has him make sweet gentle love to her. He moves inside her slowly, slowly, his eyes on her face. She tips her head back as she comes and he presses his lips to her neck and tries not to cry.

He feels useful.

He feels empty.

He feels like a tool and that’s what he is. A tool for hunting, a tool to give his father something to live for, a tool for her pleasure.

Only with Sam did he ever feel like he could be something more. But even for Sam, he was something to be used. Used to make ends meet. To keep him safe. To teach him. To protect him.

The difference is that then he felt so safe, so loved. His usefulness made him feel as though he wanted to keep living, as though his life had meaning.

Now it simply makes him feel low. 

But Cassie seems to see that. She is gentle with him, and kind. She rides him until he comes, her hands around his neck, and then tells him that he is beautiful, that he’s good. She doesn’t ask about his missing half, or the amulet around his neck.

One night, she kisses him on the lips. “I love you,” he says in the dark. He isn’t sure whether he’s saying it to her or his brother. He doesn’t know if it’s true. But he wants it to be. He doesn’t want to be alone forever.

She doesn’t answer, but she shifts closer to him in her bed and lets him hold her close.

After a week, she meets her soulmate and leaves Dean behind. He tries not to let it break his heart, because he knows, if he could ever—

But he didn’t. Not for Sam. He didn’t leave everything behind.

So there must be something wrong with him.

Well, there definitely is. He’s in love with his little brother, for one thing. He’s a sub who can’t submit, who’s afraid of being safe, who only feels loved when he’s with his brother. His brother.

Dean stays awake crying more nights than not. He’ll make himself come and then stay up half the night, tears rolling silently down his face as he dreams of Sammy, Sammy, always Sammy. 

He thinks he could have fallen in love with Cassie, if she’d let him. Or Lisa, back when he was nineteen, or anyone who’s given him the time of day. Dean could have been anyone’s for the asking.

But being Sam’s, that he has no choice about. His heart is Sam’s, and his body. His soul, if he believed in such things. He is Sam's no matter what, even if they can never be together.

Two years. He makes it two whole years, and every day is agony. He starts drinking, just as his dad does. 

Dad has the right idea. It does a lot to numb the pain. Sometimes he goes whole hours without thinking of the missing half of his heart. Some nights he sleeps without weeping.

Not most, but some.

He lets girls have him behind bars, in the backseat of his car. He doesn’t fuck them, not after Cassie. But he goes down on them, lets them hold him down while he licks them, tells them how beautiful they are. Sometimes they tell him the same, call him a good sub, stroke his hair. He tries not to enjoy it too much. He feels pathetic, absolutely pathetic, for enjoying these crumbs of affection so much.

But for two years, they’re all he has.

Until he can’t take it any more. A hunt is sending him to California, within an hour’s drive of Palo Alto. He sends an email from a throwaway account, once the body is salted and burnt, while Dad is drinking away the anniversary of Mary’s death.

 

Sammy  
Coming by. Not to stay. Tomorrow morning. Will u see me  
Please

 

He doesn’t sign it, he knows there’s no need. Within seconds, there is a reply.

 

Of course. I hope you are all right. Meet me by the student center. I’m headed there now and I’ll be there all day. Please come. I miss you so much. I love you.

 

Dean stares at the screen until his eyes burn, writes a note for his father, and runs for the car.


	10. Chapter 10

He drives as fast as he can, all through the night. By nine, he’s there. 

Sam is sitting on a chair on the patio, drinking a cup of coffee. 

Dean isn’t sure what he expects. Probably for Sam to do the dominant thing, to stay in control. Maybe for him to insist that Dean beg his forgiveness. Earn his attention back.

He doesn’t expect for his brother to shove both chair and coffee cup over in his eagerness to run to Dean, to take his brother in his arms. He holds Dean close, longer and harder than is really comfortable, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

And Dean is crying. He didn’t mean to, he didn’t plan it, he fucking hates this side of himself, but there are tears falling from his eyes as he buries his face in Sam’s shirt, trying desperately to hide it.

“Shh,” Sam whispers. “It’s all right. I’m here now. You’re safe.”

And it’s the stupidest thing, because when have they ever been safe, for a second in their whole lives? Yet Dean somehow feels, down to his bones, like it’s true.

“How long do we have?”

“A day, maybe? Dad will expect me back by tomorrow morning.” It’s not long enough. He wants to say forever. He wants to say he’ll give Sam everything, every second of the rest of his life. But he thinks of the lives he saved, just yesterday, and he can’t.

“Okay,” Sam says, just accepting.

“I—Sammy—I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I have… I left. I have this whole life here. I left you.”

Dean flinches and Sam’s arms tighten around him. “I’m sorry,” Dean repeats.

“What?”

“I… that I’m… never mind. Can’t we just—with the time we have? Please?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Whatever you want, Dean.”

“I want… Would you…” he’s never had to ask for this before. He just struts around and relies on his looks to get someone to tell him what they want. “Kiss me. Again. Please.”

Sam smiles and presses his lips softly against Dean’s. Then he pulls away, still smiling. “Talk to me. Have you… are you okay? In general, I mean.” 

Dean badly wants to lie. He doesn’t want Sam to hurt, doesn’t want a single bad thing to happen to the brother he loves so much. He wants Sam to go on into his bright new life without guilt or regret, without Dean holding him back. But something in his gut compels him to tell the truth. “No. I’m not. I try, I do, but I’m—I can’t—“ his words trail off.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. Really.” Sam wraps an arm around his waist, pulling Dean back against his chest. “I’ve let you down.”

“No. Sam, that’s not- that’s not what I meant, I-“

“I had a responsibility. To take care of you.”

Dean shakes his head, because that’s all wrong. That’s the wrong way round, he’s supposed to be the one who takes care of Sammy. 

“I know… I know we never… but you’re still mine. I ought… I had to get out. I had to try.”

“All I ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

“I know. That doesn’t make it okay.” Sam strokes the back of Dean’s neck. “What do you want to do today? With the day we have. I’ll try my best… my best not to ask you for any more. You have to know I want to, that every instinct is screaming out I ought to keep you here, to protect you and possess you, but I won’t make you stya. I won’t tell you to stay, even. You’re free to do what you want.”

“I want to stay,” Dean murmurs, “but I have to go.”

Sam sighs. “I understand.” He kisses Dean’s cheek. “Will you—“

“What?”

“I want to acknowledge. The bond.”

Dean shakes his head. “There’s no point.”

“It would matter to me.”

“No,” Dean says. “I won’t hold you back.”

“Dean, you aren’t—I wish you’d stop saying that.”

“You can move on. Clearly you can. You left dad and you left me to come here. And I can’t. I know I can’t. I’m never gonna be normal, Sammy. Never.”

“I don’t need you to be anything other than what you are,” Sam assures him. “But I won’t push you.”

“I’m sorry. I wish it could be different.”

“I know.” Sam bites his lip, looking suddenly terribly young. “I missed you so much, Dean.”

“You too. You don’t even know how much.”

Sam takes his hand, raises it to his lips, kisses it. It makes Dean uncomfortable, that much intimacy, that much tenderness. He doesn’t recall ever feeling it before. Dean starts to pull away, and then he goes limp and falls forward, into Sam’s arms. Sam holds him close, rocking him gently back and forth in his arms. He leans in, whispering gently in Dean’s ear. “It’s all right. It’s all going to be all right. I’m going to make it all right.”

Dean knows, down to his soul, that he can’t. It’s beyond anyone’s power, even Sam’s, even if he was willing to give up this new life of his to be with Dean. Which he isn’t. It would never work, because Dean doesn’t have what it takes to be normal in him.

Besides, this bond never should have happened. They’re brothers, and it’s wrong. Not because of morals or law, that wouldn’t stop them, but because it’s a perversion of what the bond ought to be.

It’s supposed to take Sam away, give him someone new in his life, someone special.

It shouldn’t be like this.

But it is, and it’s the only bond, maybe the only good thing at all, that either of them will ever have.

So for today, they can pretend it’s all right. They can pretend it’s enough.

They eat breakfast together in the café. Sam shows Dean around campus, and they laugh and joke and lie down together in Sam’s bed, and Dean is so tired he falls asleep, Sam’s arms around him.

It’s an illusion, it will only last the day, but he does feel it, in his body, through the bond.

He feels safe.


End file.
